


flesh and bone

by aubadezayn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Curses, Discussions of death, Discussions of the Afterlife, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Dates, Fluff, Forgiving Neville, Healer Neville, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Intersex Draco, M/M, Major Illness, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Minor Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Oral Sex, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-War, Rimming, Sick Draco, Terminal Illnesses, but Draco will /not/ die, cursed Draco, im sure lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-11-22 08:04:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11376030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubadezayn/pseuds/aubadezayn
Summary: Draco was cursed shortly after the war ended in Diagon Alley by an unknown wizard with an unknown spell that has caused organ failure. He's had several surgeries to slow and hopefully abolish the curse's progression but after he collapses again, it appears to have continued. His usual Healer goes on a long vacation at a bad time and Neville takes over as Draco's Healer, and possibly his boyfriend?





	1. something my soul needs

**Author's Note:**

> you could come chat with me at my hp sideblog @viktorrkrrum if you'd like!
> 
> i started this fic very randomly at like midnight so the tags are susceptible to change as is the chapter count, but the fic isn't intended to be too long or strenuous. draco will /not/ die, but he is "terminally" ill and is suffering. there will be discussion of medical procedures, both real, fake, imagined, and distorted because i'm not a doctor at all, and not a magical one either. if you'd like anything explained better, feel free to message me on tumblr ^ or comment on here <3

Draco is admitted to St. Mungos on a stormy Tuesday afternoon when deep, heavy grey clouds have rolled in over London and upheaved their downpour on unsuspecting commuters. The rain wasn’t predicted; neither was Draco’s collapse to the cold stone floor of the apothecary he works in.

 

“Oh Draco, you worry me so much,” Narcissa says stoicly, her face set in stone but her voice trembling. Her hand grips Draco’s on the white linens laid out over him like if she can just hold on tightly enough he’ll make it, he’ll become healthy in a second like a powerful spell.

 

“I don’t mean to, Mother,” Draco apologizes wearily, laying his head back into the puffed pillows and staring up at the telly the hospital has mounted to the ceiling. It plays a movie Draco has never watched, the black and white Muggles running about creating drama and angst for themselves. The woman is accused of having taken another lover, the man has lost all his money fighting for her. It’s all quite mundane. His head pounds deeply, spread about behind his eyes till he finally gives in and shuts them.

 

There’s a knock on the door after several quiet minutes of Narcissa running her fingers across Draco’s hand’s tendons, the soft muted voices of the movie and rain battering the window. “Mr. Malfoy?” A Healer asks, stepping into the room with a quick quotes quill hovering next to his shoulder. “Mrs. Malfoy, if I could ask you to step outside while I conduct an examination. Thank you so much,” He ushers Mother out of the room though she looks entirely unwilling.

 

There’s something familiar about his face. It’s nearly imperceptible to Draco’s tired blurry vision and unwilling memory but it lingers and makes Draco sit up just a bit straighter. He’s got a strong if somewhat lopsided jaw and therefore crooked assuring smile, but it makes him look friendlier. Less like an intimidating healer and more like a mate, as if Draco has any of those at the moment.

 

“Hello, Mr. Malfoy, how are you feeling?” The Healer asks after a second, stepping forward and grabbing the chart attached to the end of Draco’s bed. He’s wearing pink scrubs, which most magical Healers don’t wear to begin with, much less the males.

 

“Who are you?” Draco asks as sternly as he can while sat on a hospital bed, and the Healer raises an eyebrow.

 

“I’m your Healer while Healer Brodstone is on vacation; Neville Longbottom,” He introduces himself with a quirked smile, and Draco’s stomach clenches so tight he grabs it over the blanket. “Surprised you don’t recognize me; seven years of school together, plus a war, think you could remember me.

 

“You look different,” Draco says, and then feels himself heat up in the cheeks and sneers. “Didn’t know you’d actually made something of yourself.”

 

Longbottom looks at him with the smile frozen and then laughs, green eyes twinkling. “Yes well, you’ve certainly made something of yourself as well, haven’t you? Let’s check you out, would you please lift up your gown.”

 

He doesn’t retort anything nasty or mean like Draco had wanted, he doesn’t even seem hurt by what Draco had said. Instead he snaps on gloves, which fit snugly over surprisingly large hands, and steps up to Draco’s hospital bed. He lowers the guard rail on the side with practiced motions as Draco moves the hospital gown up and aside, his underwear and the blanket covering everything but his abdomen.

 

“I’m going to apply a little pressure to your abdomen,” Longbottom explains professionally gesturing to Draco’s pale, nearly concave stomach that moves slightly with each breath. “I want you to tell me on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being painless, 10 being torture, what you feel at each spot I push.”

 

The gloves are a cold thin layer over warm hands when they press into Draco’s stomach and at first, near the top past his belly button, it doesn’t hurt at all. Draco provides a firm one response with no problem and Longbottom seems pleased by that. The quill scratches the response down.

 

He continues to press; pauses in between like he’s giving Draco a chance to cleanse his palette. “Why did you become a Healer?” Draco asks, looking at the soft hair on the nape of Longbottom’s neck as he bends over Draco. He’s close to him, closer than anyone has been in months over than Mother, and he smells like sandalwood and potions and butterbeer. He can imagine Longbottom getting off work and heading out for drinks with coworkers, maybe even a girlfriend, or maybe a bloody wife at this point. Maybe some weekends he even sees their old classmates.

 

“I liked the science of magic,” Longbottom says carefully, tapping Draco’s stomach before he presses into the soft vulnerable skin of his lower abdomen, just above where the blanket protects him. “And I figured? After all the violence of the war, the world could use a couple more healing hands in it’s arsenal.”

 

Draco wants to ask more, wants to ask what happens when the violence enters the hospital, when the bloody and the bruised look too similar to the battlefield but pain rackets through his body. He throws his head back and groans, Longbottom removing his hands immediately but the pain still ringing. It’s like a domino effect; once it’s set off it races through and burns. Draco’s panting by the time the pain has dissolved, his eyes squeezed shut, his chest pounding up and down with the effort of breathing.

 

“Number?” Longbottom asks, voice calm past where Draco can’t see him. He peels his eyes open just enough to see Longbottom watching him carefully.

 

“10,” Draco mutters, lips dry, suddenly exhausted. He looks at Longbottom through watery, burning eyes and realizes he’s started crying without his permission.

 

Longbottom grabs Draco’s chart once more, scanning over it and flipping through a few of the pages. “Alright, Mr. Malfoy, I’m going to schedule you for a few tests, and I’m going to draw a vial of your blood. I think the curse may have spread to more of your organs.”

 

“I thought they removed my gallbladder and part of my pancreas and that would take care of it.”

 

“Unfortunately it doesn’t seem to have,” Longbottom closes the clipboard and strips off his gloves. There are supplies in the room to draw blood and Longbottom prepares them smoothly with a fresh pair of gloves on.

 

“What does that mean? What has it spread to?” What more can it take? Draco doesn’t ask that. But by the way Longbottom’s hands freeze on Draco’s slender bicep with the piece of elastic that will draw out his vein, it seems to have been heard. Longbottom fixes him with a thousand-yard stare, an expression Draco’s seen often in the mirror.

 

“You’re going to survive this, you know,” Longbottom says matter-of-factly. Like that’s a given, like Draco hasn’t spent the last year wishing he hadn’t stepped foot in Diagon Alley that day, wishing he’d chosen things differently in the war, wishing he’d been less auspicious. The curse had come from nowhere, seemingly, and he’d been left on the cobblestones rotting with wizards stepping around him like he wasn’t there. Once Mother had finally tracked him down Draco had one collapsed lung, a small intenstine that was eating itself and the lining of his trachea was dry.

 

Another hour and Draco would have shriveled up and died in Knockturn Alley, with no one caring, no one watching.

 

“I don’t think so,” Draco responds honestly, too tired to sneer, pain still shaking his limbs every few seconds and robbing him of breath. They had removed his gallbladder and a part of his pancreas when they’d discovered the curse had collected in that pocket. They’d promised he’d survive it; he’d not just survive he’d thrive.

 

Longbottom slips the needle into Draco’s arm after he taps at the blue vein that’s appeared and Draco barely feels the pain of it. Whether that’s because Longbottom is skilled or because he’s grown numb to it, he’s not sure.

 

“You survived the war,” Longbottom says, meeting Draco’s eye as the blood is slowly suctioned out of him. “You survived Voldemort, you survived the first leg of this curse…you can survive the second.”

 

“Wouldn’t you rather I die?” Draco asks pensively, looking away and staring up at the muted television. The woman is crying, big crocodile tears rolling down her pure soft cheeks. A man’s hand cups her chin, he says things forcefully.

 

“I don’t want anyone to die,” He begins attaching another vial and filling it.

 

“I didn’t say anyone,” Draco restates. “I said me.”

 

“I don’t want you to die, Malfoy,” He promises, gloved hand resting on Draco’s forearm even though it doesn’t need to.

 

“Whoever cursed me did,” He considers. It’s haunted him ever since, any time he’d continued to say petty or mean-spirited things, any time he closed his eyes, any time he was alone. He wasn’t a stranger to people wanting him dead, during the war quite a few would have happily hit him with that horrifying burst of green light. He’d just never imagined someone would actually do it, succeed. Make it slow; make it painful.

 

“Were they ever found?” Longbottom asks as he removes the needle and presses a cotton ball to it, folding Draco’s arm up forcibly to stem the bleeding.

 

“No.”

 

There’s quiet among them for a second while Longbottom seals the vials in a plastic bag. Then he’s standing, and he’s marking something in Draco’s chart.

 

“This might be the blood loss,” Draco whispers, just loud enough to capture Longbottom’s attention over the rain and the beep of his heart monitor. “But you’ve gotten quite handsome.”

 

He’s not sure why he says it, it’s far too nice, far too honest, for Draco’s usual taste. But maybe it’s okay to be honest, even kind, when you’re dying? When you can barely raise your arms you should be able to compliment a handsome man on his smile and his soft blonde hair and his broad shoulders and just let it be.

 

Longbottom smiles, looks down like he’s still a bashful teenager afraid to meet Draco’s eyes, and then looks back to Draco. “Thank you,” He says finally. His mouth is quite pink, and that’s definitely the blood loss talking because Draco can barely focus on Longbottom’s face enough to find them.

 

“How about a cup of tea? Later, once you’ve gotten off your shift,” Draco asks, practically begs as his legs feel hollow and cold under the blanket. He’s suddenly obsessed with the idea, obsessed with crossing that bridge between the Malfoy Longbottom knew as a child and the Malfoy he’d like to be now. Draco hasn’t been perfect since the war, no major rehabilitation, no 360-degree personality change. He’s still not very nice, and he still doesn’t smile much, and since the curse he certainly hasn’t been a good friend or an approachable lad.

 

But maybe that could change? The idea of changing it gives him a warm burst of strength, the goal and its ambition fill him with just a bit of renewed life despite the pain and exhaustion. Maybe this is something his soul needs, before he goes...

 

“I get off near 11, you’ll probably be asleep,” Longbottom says, though he doesn’t completely reject the idea, or bring up the past. He doesn’t sneer, like Draco might have in another situation. He doesn’t laugh.

 

“You can wake me up,” Draco offers. “I don’t sleep much anymore.”

 

When he closes his eyes sometimes and his brain relaxes he sees that burst of purple sparks that had blown him away in Diagon. He feels that initial spreading pain, that itching fire under his skin that he couldn’t stop. He remembers how he could feel it eating him from the inside out.

 

“Alright,” Longbottom says reluctantly, though he’s still smiling. He taps Draco’s foot awkwardly where it’s covered by the blanket. “Try to rest before they come to take you for tests.”


	2. you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would just like to say that this chapter involves a little bit of discussion about intersex, and response to draco being intersex, and if it's not accurate or not sensitive enough i apologize. i'm not intersex personally, but i've studied it a fair amount and researched it and tried to be sensitive. ty <3

It’s not easy to tell Mother that the curse has spread, in fact Draco doesn’t for the entire twenty minutes she holds his hand before the nurse comes to take him for tests. When the nurse knocks on the door Draco turns his tired head across the pillow to where Mother is pretending not to watch him and says, “It’s spread, Mum.”

 

There’s no time for reactions as the nurse comes in and explains hazily what’s going to happen, all as she’s unloading and reloading him into a wheelchair. Draco catches only a glimpse of his Mother’s frozen expression before she wishes him good luck and the nurse takes him away.

 

“You’ll be alright,” The nurse says when he turns back in the seat trying to crane and keep his Mother’s eyes, even as she turns into herself and puts her face in her hands. Then she’s gone and they’ve turned the corner into the eerily quiet hallway. Healers rush about with only the whispery sound of their scrubs and robes, and the beeping of all the machines.

 

It’s oddly nice to see that this nurse doesn’t know him, or recognize his name. Or maybe she’s just very used to pretending she doesn’t.

 

They lay him down on a freezing plastic board that curves up on the edges to hold him in place. It’s attached to a massive circular machine that the nurse calls an MRI scanner that looks like a Muggle donut. His head is on a pillow, and the nurse warns him not to move too much or they’ll have to restart the exam.

 

Then she leaves the room and there’s a whining grind for a second before his feet start to descend into the machine. He stays perfectly still, eyes closed, breathing steadily. He’s not used to Muggle examinations, or any of their technology so his heart rate is less than calm but he tries to stay still so they’ll only have to do this the one time.

 

“Good job so far, Mr. Malfoy, now stay very still,” His nurse, or maybe a Healer, says through a crackly microphone and then there are bursts of light past his eyelids. He heaves in a shaky breath, and counts. 1, 2, 3, another burst of light, Avada Kedavra. 4, 5, 6, Crucio. 7, 8, 9, whatever purple burst of light had put him here.

 

“Okay, the scan is over but please remain still.” He starts moving backwards and Draco’s eyes open. In the attached room with the tinted window he can see Longbottom has been pulled in and is being shown the screens that probably hold his scan results. Maybe it’s spread to his liver, he’s heard that you can’t live without that.

 

He’s laying there in the soft in-between where the healers aren’t tending to him and he’s just waiting quietly when it occurs to him that he could really die.

 

He could die tomorrow. Tonight. In a few minutes if the curse has spread to something truly vital like his lungs or his heart.

 

Or maybe he’ll be brain dead. Maybe it’s spread to the synapses in his mind and his Mother will take him home to the Manor and prop him up in a room like a portrait.

 

“Draco?” A voice asks softly, accompanied by a soft touch to his arm. Draco’s eyes snap open to look up at Longbottom’s concerned expression. He realizes suddenly that he’s hyperventilating, anxiety rushing through the silent tunnel of his mind so sneakily he hadn’t even noticed. “We’re going to take you for a few magical exams now, are you okay?”

 

There’s suddenly a rush of people, of noise, like coming up from deep underneath water, and Draco sits up almost knocking Longbottom away. He puts his face in his hands and he hears Longbottom usher out the nurses who had been tending to the machine and preparing to move him.

 

“Draco, try to count to ten and time your breathing on each number. Follow me,” Longbottom’s voice is soft and quiet, and one of his hands settles on Draco’s spine. “1, inhale. 2, exhale. 3, inhale. 4, exhale.”

 

By the time they reach ten, with Longbottom’s deep voice slowly guiding each inhale, Draco’s calmed down and just feels exhausted. “What did you find in the test?”

 

“Draco – “

 

“Tell me!” Draco snaps, glaring at Longbottom fiercely and causing him to withdraw his hand like Draco might grow spikes or bite him.

 

“It’s…good and bad news,” Longbottom says, glancing towards the door before climbing up onto the testing table next to him. Draco shifts so they’re side by side more, stomach gnawing on itself at the idea of bad news.

 

“Give me the good news first.”

 

“The curse hasn’t spread anywhere vital so far, and we’re looking towards another bout of remission as long as we can isolate and contain what it _has_ targeted,” Longbottom says.

 

“So it has targeted something? Just something I can live without?” Draco asks hopefully. It’s not ideal, he’ll probably require surgery and healing and have to swallow all types of potions, but at least he won’t die yet.

 

“Have you ever had any genetic testing?”

 

“No,” Draco looks off thinking about it. “. I’ve had blood taken but…no genetic testing.”

 

“Well…” Longbottom taps the blanket they’d put over Draco and then coughs. “It’s a difficult topic I think, to broach with a pureblood especially since Muggle genetic study isn’t a very welcome conversation among us…”

 

“What is it?” Draco demands, pointing his chin up towards the ceiling defiantly and summoning all his strength. “Tell me.”

 

“The curse has spread and seemingly to us, focused on your ovaries; an oophorectomy will be necessary to stop further spreading.”

 

Draco is stunned silent for a moment, his eyes watering without his permission under the stress. He bites his tongue, and looks off towards the machine they’d put him in away from where Longbottom can see his face.

 

“Women have ovaries,” Draco says finally.

 

“A few people, regardless of their gender, can have ovaries or even full female reproductive systems, but still have male genitalia and present as mostly masculine,” Longbottom explains. “It’s called being intersex.”

 

“I don’t want it,” Draco complains, voice quiet, resigned. Longbottom pats his hand and Draco has the sudden violent urge to bite him.

 

“We don’t get choices most of the time, especially when it comes to genetics.” Longbottom sighs and Draco can feel his gaze on the side of his head. “It doesn’t change anything about you, honestly it’s probably saved your life. The curse could have spread to your intestines or your prostate or your kidneys.”

 

“What happens during the, er, procedure?” Draco asks, forgetting the complex word that had rolled off Longbottom’s tongue.

 

“We’ll put you under anesthesia, and it’s a simple procedure. A few cuts, a few blood-clotting spells, and you’ll be ovary-free and hopefully curse-free.” Longbottom says it like it’s so simple, like he won’t have to explain to Mother that her son has a woman’s organs inside him, like he won’t feel the loss even of a body part he didn’t know he had.

 

“What if I die?”

 

“Draco – “

 

“It’s Malfoy,” Draco cuts him off, thoroughly exhausted with the day, and with the soft lilt of Longbottom’s accent on his name. It makes him feel too vulnerable, too familiar. Like he’s under a magnifying glass, or like Longbottom’s just seen too much of him.

 

“Malfoy,” Longbottom sighs. “We’ve never lost a patient under anesthesia, I will _not_ let you die, I promise.”

 

“Promises don’t mean very much,” Draco whispers, remembering all the times Father had promised Mother that he wouldn’t go to Azkaban, that he wouldn’t let Voldemort ruin their lives. When Father had promised Draco wouldn’t be a Death Eater.

 

“Mine do,” Longbottom swears.

 

* * *

 

 

There is a knock at the door far later after Mother has gone home, and swallowed the news of her son’s deformities, when Draco has been lolling against his pillows nearly asleep. Just as he’s sitting up, and there’s a brush of pink Healers scrubs around the door, he remembers inviting Longbottom to his room.

 

He looks tired, it’s probably a long day being a Healer, and Draco gestures for him to sit down on the lounge chair Mother’s been sleeping on some nights.

 

“How are you feeling?” Longbottom asks, pouring himself a cup of water from the jug on Draco’s side table. He’s still in his scrubs but he’s put a sweater over top.

 

“Not great,” Draco admits. The magical tests had been more grueling than the Muggle tests and they’d given him a pain potion to help soothe the stress on his body. He’d fallen asleep nearly right after drinking it and only woken up recently. The moment he’d pressed the button to ask for food they’d told him he wouldn’t be able to eat in order to prepare for the procedure tomorrow, and they’d given him a potion to make him feel full.

 

“Your tests are clean,” Longbottom says conversationally, watching the muted telly. “The curse seems to have settled on the ovaries with no signs of spreading.”

 

Earlier they had been _Draco’s_ ovaries, now Longbottom talks about them distantly. It helps a little bit.

 

“That’s a good sign,” Draco asserts, holding his chin firm and not letting it shake. Longbottom scoots the chair closer to the bed and places his hand gently over Draco’s, avoiding his IV. He tells himself firmly that he lets it happen only out of exhaustion, and not because the warmth feels amazing on his cold joints, and not because Mother had pointedly refused to touch him after he’d told her about the Healers’ discovery.

 

“It is,” Longbottom agrees, and his thumb shifts imperceptibly across Draco’s skin.

 

“I believe I promised you tea,” Draco says suddenly, smiling weakly at Longbottom and pressing the button to call his nurse. She’ll be right steaming being called on for tea, but it’ll be worth it.

 

“You can’t – “ He begins to point out before he pauses and smiles. “I don’t think some hot water and lemon would hurt.”

 

“I don’t think so either,” Draco sniffs, looking down his nose at Nurse McGregor as she enters the room, already frowning.

 

“What is it now, Mr. Malfoy?” She asks, coming in and raising her eyebrows when she catches sight of Longbottom. “Do you ever go home, Neville?”

 

“He’s my guest right now,” Draco explains, ignoring how Neville sheepishly chuckles into his other hand. “We’d like tea – er, Neville would like tea, I’d like hot water with lemon.”

 

“I’m not a waitress, you know,” She grumbles, checking on his IV and machines and running a quick diagnostic spell over him. “But fine, coming right up.”

 

“Thank you,” Draco says after a moment, just as she’s slipping out the door and when he glances t Neville, he blushes fiercely. “And what are you smiling about?”

 

“You’re in a gown that’ll nicely show off your arse if you stand up, and you’re still acting like a Malfoy,” Neville chuckles, smile soft in the dim light.

 

“I _am_ a Malfoy,” Draco grouches.

 

“You’re not always a _Malfoy_ ,” Neville enunciates profoundly, still grinning. “Sometimes you’re just Draco.”

 

“Oh am I?” He asks snidely, feeling squeamish and fluttery in his stomach in a way he doesn’t like. It’s far too similar to how Pansy used to describe being around Blaise. Draco’s killed any butterfly in his stomach before it could flutter its wings; he’s not sure why these are surviving.

 

“It’s okay,” Neville says patting Draco’s hand. “I like Draco.”

 

* * *

 

Neville doesn’t leave, which is a surprise that greets Draco when he wakes up the next morning face to face with him. He’s asleep in the lounger, which has been pulled up close enough to Draco’s hospital bed that he can see nearly each one of Neville’s eyelashes where they lay soft and light against his skin. The sun is coming in through the blinds, and someone has turned off Draco’s telly and covered him in the night. The light makes Neville’s hair look more blonde.

 

Today he might die. But he also might survive.

 

What will he do if they manage to get the curse out of him? He’d imagined it would eat his vital organs one by one till he was a vegetable living off potions and spells. He’d given up on advanced education, on a real career. He’d given up on his Mum, on a family of his own.

 

“Neville,” Draco says sharply, not bothering to be quiet. Neville jolts a bit and snuffles into the armchair, but doesn’t wake up. “Longbottom!”

 

Neville’s eyes pop open and he stares blearily at Draco for a second like he can’t quite see him and then blinks. “Draco…good morning.”

 

“When is my surgery?”

 

Neville sits up, his hand, which Draco hadn’t noticed was still near his on the mattress, sliding off to rub at his eyes. He looks at his watch, a slim banded simple thing with a small traditional face. “In about three hours. You nervous?”

 

“Should I be?”

 

Neville looks at him pointedly and stands up stretching briefly. He’s still in his scrubs, and that sweater, but both rise out of the way to show that cliché tantalizing strip of skin form his lower back. There’s the briefest glimpse of ink rising up from his Healers pants but Draco doesn’t get time to consider that because Neville sits down on the edge of the bed.

 

“I’ve already told you that you shouldn’t be,” Neville says, hands clasped together. “Doesn’t mean that will change how you feel.”

 

“I’m afraid I’m going to die,” Draco confides, looking solemnly into Neville’s eyes. It’s surprisingly lightening to say, to entrust in someone else. “But I’m afraid I’m going to live, as well.”

 

Neville sighs, looking down at the blankets for a second and then back to Draco. His eyes are wet at the corners, and he looks immeasurably sad which makes Draco feel almost guilty, ashamed.

 

He reaches out first this time, taking Neville’s hand in his.

 

“You’re too young to feel that way, Draco,” Neville says. “We’re all too young for that.”

 

Suddenly it doesn’t seem like they’re talking about Draco, or at least not Draco alone. Aunt Bellatrix had said many things during the war, and he’d heard a lot…but he’d somehow foolishly and in a very young way, thought he was the only casualty.

 

“How about this?” Draco says, tracing the tendons prominent in Neville’s hands. “If I survive this, like you seem so confident I will, you take me on a date.”

 

Neville raises his eyebrows. “Why don’t you take _me_ on a date?”

 

“I thought a Gryffindor would want to take initiative,” Draco says, even though he’d chosen his phrasing mostly on the fly and because he hasn’t done much more than go to the apothecary and the Manor this last year. He’s not very up to date on what a good date would be, if he ever had been.

 

“I can take initiative if you want me to,” Neville says, smiling deviously in a way worthy of a Slytherin. There’s something very flirty, playful in his tone and Draco embarrassingly enough, can feel his cheeks glow pink in response.

 

“I want you to,” Draco flirts back, never to be out done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please kudos/comment/subscribe, and you can come see me on tumblr @viktorrkrrum (my hp blog) or @zaynietommo (my main blog) <3

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, comment and subscribe plz <3


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